The Whirligig of Time
by IsabellaImogen
Summary: Back after a long absence. I'm still having trouble with Orsino and Feste. This is just a reposting of the chapters I had up a while ago. Lordie, this is old stuff. Anyhow: Twelfth Night sequel fic. Enjoy.
1. Doubts

**Disclaimer: I don't own this, Will Shakespeare does, and probably some bits of Trevor Nunn too, for the kick-ass movie version. **

**A/N: Illyria is north of modern-day Greece and is basically now known as Croatia, and the territory extended down a ways along the coast that runs parallel to Western Italy, on the other side of the Adriatic Sea. **

**This picks up where play left off, a year later.**

**This is partially based in the story presented by the movie, but mostly the spirit of the play. Plus I will not be having the characters speaking all Shakespearean. It'd be nice, but I can't write that convincingly and still get my point across and you wouldn't be able to understand a lot of it and wouldn't waste your time with my poor little story. So they will be speaking old-fashioned I suppose, but very understandable. No modern slang. Viola's not going to walk in and go "Yo shizzle my nizzle, what up G dawg in da hood? What's happenin' in your crib? Fo' shiz!" If you catch me using words you think are too modern, let me know in the reviews section and I'll do my best to correct it. All part in italics are either Shakespeare's words or flashbacks. Please R & R!**

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"Enough; no more:  
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before." – Orsino (from the real 12th Night) Lines 7-8, Scene 1, Act 1

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Viola, the Duchess of Illyria, wandered idly about the palace she now lived in with her husband of just under a year, Orsino. A small volume of poetic verses dangled from her fingertips, ignored, as she strolled along the outer passages, her eyes reflecting the same colour as the dark gray waves that caressed the sea-shore in the distance. Pulling her thick woolen shawl tighter around her slim shoulders, Viola placed the book on a small table and placed a hand against a thick wooden door, pushing on it with all her strength. It groaned and creaked but slowly gave way under her steady pressure. As the door swung wide, she caught up her thick skirts in one hand and drew the other along the sloping wall that ran along both sides of the staircase that led up to the flat roof terrace. The winds blew strongly off the ocean, and the stiff breeze had her leaning into it, her hair streaming out behind her and tangling before her eyes as the wind played with the ends of the dark brown waves. Bracing herself against the gusts, she began to pace.

This was where she came to think, no matter the time of day or night, paying no heed to the weather. In fact, she preferred to sort out her thoughts amidst the howling gales. The wildness of the tempests and the courses of the winds seemed to smooth out the chaos of her thoughts and gentle them into something manageable. Chewing on her thumbnail, she sat on the low stone wall that encircled the rooftop and leaned her elbow on her knees. She sighed and rubbed her closed eyes, trying to think back to when it had all started.

"_Your master quits you; and for your service done him, so much against the mettle of your sex, so far beneath your soft and tender breeding, and since you called me master for so long, here is my hand: you shall from this time be your master's mistress." _

_Orsino's words had been spoken lowly, and Viola felt she couldn't believe her ears. The man with whom she had spent the last three months with and had fallen in love with, was uttering the sweetest words she had ever heard. He loved her. He loved her, Viola; in spite of her deception and disguise, in spite of her brother having wed Olivia, and in spite of the threat he had made against her life only moments earlier as he thought her to have betrayed him by marrying Olivia. Apparently, being female changed everything. She had been willing to die at the hands of the man she loved as his rage against his unrequited love he felt turned him to contemplate dark acts of violence to revenge himself upon Olivia. But as he'd spoken to her, gently, warmly, she had known that the love he'd felt for Olivia had been superficial and fleeting, and the love they had built on friendship and mutual respect had deepened into an abiding passion and longing that could now be satisfied. In the grand scheme of things, Olivia had meant next to nothing to Orsino._

Or so she'd thought.

She couldn't place the nagging feeling of dread and doubt that tugged incessantly at her heart, even as she tried to lock away the unpleasant thoughts into the darkest corner of her mind in order to maintain her sanity. A shared smile, a look, a touch of hands during the dance…each incident did not go unnoticed in Viola's eyes. Even as Orsino and Olivia occupied the same space, across a crowded room, it seemed to Viola that the air was electrified by their communal presence. Though she was even now his wife, Viola felt that she could never wholly possess Orsino's heart as Olivia had. Orsino often talked to her about many things. It pleased her that he viewed her as an intellectual match. Given that she'd parried his questions and debated his ideas with ease when she had donned her male attire and gone by the name of Cesario, it would have been ludicrous if he'd expected her to turn into a meek and subservient female. Viola sighed and shook her head. It really was too bad that she'd already do anything out of love for the man. So their companionship was still strong, and he knew just how to make her laugh—but Viola just couldn't ignore what she saw anymore.

There was a leaden veil over their happiness, it seemed. The magic, the sheen of silver that seemed to tinge the air whenever she and Orsino were together, had simply…faded. Viola saw little to no effort on Orsino's part to rejuvenate the stagnant state of their marriage, and wondered if the glitter and romance of her situation had been a figment of her imagination all along. Think realistically, she reasoned with herself. Unless Orsino had shallowly fooled himself into believing himself madly in love with Olivia, with some part of him knowing all along that he was doomed to falter or fail, he never could have shifted his affections towards her, Viola, in an instant, as he had seemed to. Viola was left with two considerations, one, that Orsino's love for Olivia _had_ been insipid and false; or two, that his love for Viola now was as stale and unpalatable to him as last week's bread. Or perhaps he had never really loved her at all. This led Viola to question Orsino's motives or intelligence, seeing as he had acted so strongly in apparent contradiction of his own feelings. If he loved Olivia truly, why had he married Viola when Olivia was no longer available to him? If he truly loved Viola all along, why had he put so much time and effort into wooing Olivia? The questions inevitably linked to one another into a circle, forming a curious mass of orbiting doubts in Viola's mind, which threatened her sanity in making her want to scream or sleep or die.

Viola groaned, and the sound was swept away with the wind as she sat. Difficult enough as it was, that her husband would sooner pat her on the back and offer her a brandy as though she were a fellow man than give her a kiss as a woman. The whistling winds did nothing to soothe her tormented soul this time, and red half-circles appeared on her hands from where her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palms. She would have to stand in the middle of the market square, naked as the day she was born, with a rose between her teeth before he'd even notice she was female. Not that there was anything wrong with his basic perception of the fact, she thought, colouring a little. He certainly was what she assumed was enthusiastic in their marital relations, but seldom did he even attempt to romance her, even a little. None of the songs, sighs, tears, groans, vows of love, everlasting devotion and poetic envoys he had sent to Olivia, oh no! Viola blinked violently, fighting back the tears that would spring forth, unwanted. She could bear the superficial camaraderie and lack of flirtation and romantic intrigue, but it was the harassing doubts that plagued her every waking thought these days that tore her apart inside.

Every week or so, Orsino would be called away on what he deemed 'matters of the state,' and although Viola often offered to accompany him on these trips, he gently refused her companionship, insisting that the affairs he had to attend to were hideously dull and not worth her interest. Viola had accepted these excuses to begin with, but as the trips had become more frequent in recent weeks, she had grown tired of the vague answers and unsatisfactory replies. One of her husband's pages had then let it slip that Orsino had been seen frequently at the Lady Olivia's estate. Among other things, there were several orders of flowers and fine wine and other trinkets to be sent to Olivia's house. The flowers were set to arrive in the next fortnight, Viola had surmised, after perusing some documents Orsino had left carelessly upon his desk, obviously thinking that his ledgers would be of no interest to his wife as she passed by, searching for a certain book in his library. Viola hadn't meant to snoop, but the items listed were so strange that they had caught her eye.

Viola bit her lower lip and reminded herself that these things probably meant nothing. Yet, try as she might to think of an alternative explanation, the culmination of events built in her mind and blotted out every other possibility until she was left holding the tattered shreds of her hopes for her marriage.

Above her, clouds tumbled across the sky, and a gray mist crept over the sun, shrouding her in further darkness as the afternoon turned abruptly colder. Viola shivered and quickly wiped away the few tears that had scattered down her cheeks with the edge of her shawl, letting the wind scour any remaining dampness from her skin. Her shawl billowed and snapped in the gust, and as Viola turned to head back down into the house, a sudden cacophony of sound drew her attention to the courtyard. Above the wind, she heard the clash of the gates and the clatter of hooves on the cobbled entrance, and the horse's clear whinny rose to her ears as she saw her husband ride his chocolate-brown stallion into the enclosure.

In an instinctive reaction to seeing him, she raised an arm to greet him, a smile already spreading across her tear-stained cheeks. By God, she loved the man. Whether he did her great wrong or no, she would love him until the day she died, and the thought cut to her heart like a knife.

Yet even as she waved, she lost her grip on the shawl, which slithered around her slim form, snake-like, then eluded her frantic grasp as it floated out above the courtyard, hung suspended for a moment, then was tossed and plummeted towards the man on the horse. As the fabric rustled and fluttered, the horse's eyes rolled back, showing the whites, and he whinnied again, and reared up onto his hind legs, snorting in fear at the strange piece of flapping cloth.

Viola's shriek echoed dully off the stone walls for a moment before she stood mute, her hands pressed over her mouth. Her eyes widened in shock and horror, watching her husband's figure swaying back and forth as the horse reared repeatedly. Servants rushed to and fro, some trying to catch the shawl, others attempting to calm the stallion or grab the reins or catch the master if he should fall. Orsino, being an excellent horseman, maintained his seat and gripped the reins easily, not too tightly, but with a firm enough grip to ease the horse from his violent motions, one hand leaving the leather straps to stroke the horse's neck while he whispered calming words in low, soothing tones. The horse, recognizing his master's voice, and with the bizarre shawl gone from view, gradually quieted, until Orsino was able to leap safely from his back, to where he circled in front of the horse, still holding the reins.

"Eh, Alexi, my fine boy, you must learn to have a stronger constitution than that!" he said, any fear he might have felt dissolved by his lighthearted comments and hidden behind a mask of easygoing charm and bravado. "Here," he said, handing the reins to a boy nearby, who had emerged from the kitchens to watch the action. "Take him to his stall, rub him down and give him his feed for the night. I think he's worn himself out…after he had finished with me, that is!" The assembled servants laughed nervously and began to disperse, relieved to see their master in no apparent shock or ill-health. Orsino bent to retrieve a while fringed lady's shawl from where it lay, twisted and soiled on the cobblestones. Tilting his head backwards, he gazed up to the edge of the roof, where the top of a golden head and two concerned gray eyes peered down at him from a white face. Viola crouched, half-hidden, as she had sunk to her knees, unable to watch Orsino battle the stallion and risk a broken neck at her folly.

"M'lady, you seem to have dropped you shawl," called Orsino, hiding his bemused smile by smoothing his short mustache with one hand. "'Tis no weather for you to be out and about without your shawl." Relieved, Viola stood a little taller and grinned hesitantly down at her husband.

"I'm afraid you arrival caused me to lose my grip on it, sir!" she replied.

"Then you'd best come retrieve it," he laughed. "Seeing you have the advantage from your lofty perch, my goddess on high, I shall have to ask—nay, beg—you to descend to your most humble servant, for after my journey I find myself much to fatigued to dash to the rooftop in a gallant manner simply to hand you your scarf."

When Viola hesitated, he sensed that she did not know if he fully forgave her for her misstep and he continued thus: "And how, pray tell, may you kiss me welcome home if you remain aloft?"

All of Viola's misgivings disappeared for that moment, and she hurried down the outer stairs to rush out into the courtyard and into Orsino's arms. Her wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and drew her to him, tilting her head back and kissing her, long and sweet. Viola forgot the chill of the gray, windswept afternoon in the warmth of his embrace, and it was not until later, as she lay awake, listening to Orsino's steady breathing beside her and gazing out at the starlit sky, now clear of clouds, that the same, unanswered doubts crept back into her mind. She sighed as she recalled Orsino's reluctance to speak of his trip, and even though she tried to refute her own inner arguments, she wondered. Had he not taken her into his arms and kissed her near senseless upon his arrival? Had he not spoken sweetly, called her 'goddess,' and spoken in similar poetic terms? Had he not taken her tenderly into his arms and eagerly made love to her just an hour before? Was this not love? Or was it, she reasoned, compensation, disguise for his dalliances at the Lady Olivia's house? Was his eagerness simply the enthusiasm of a lusty man, returned home from a long journey, even if the journey was to see his supposed mistress? Those who wish not to be caught in a crime make every appearance to be virtuous and perfect, she thought with dread. And do not those who take lovers feel the need to take even more? His sensual appetite, she feared, once given excess and variety, would crave more of the same. I'll take what I have, she thought grimly, turning to face the sleeping Orsino with a sigh. Nestling her head against his chest, she closed her eyes, and though she silently wept herself to sleep, Orsino's arm curled around her, and she took small comfort in his warmth and nearness, at last succumbing to the exhaustion of her mind and body.


	2. Betrayal

**Disclaimer: Will Shakespeare is my homeboy, and the originator of these works.**

**A/N: Disappointed in the lack of reviewing-ness. Hopefully this will rectify itself in the future. It's not too late to make me the happiest little fanfic-er on the planet. Go on and review! silky tone You know you want to+winks+

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"Alas…to die even when they to perfection grow!" –Viola. Act II, Scene IV

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"May I not accompany you, my lord? The journey is short and you shall be gone but for the day…"

Viola stood in the entry hall of her grand house, to bid farewell to her husband, but a week after he had returned home from his previous sojourn in city-states flung far afield.

"A day too long to be deprived of your company…"

"You need not be, my lord. 'Twould take me a moment's notice to ready for travel," Viola's hope shone fervently in her eyes, but Orsino seemed pre-occupied, and dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand.

"Indeed, you offer is tempting, but I would not have you bored by the state matters to which I must attend. Therefore, my Duchess, content yourself to remain at home, and I shall return anon, as swiftly as I may."

"Then God go with you, my lord, and speed your safe return…" Orsino kissed her goodbye, and Viola waved him off, then stood, thoughtful, in the hallway. As she heard the clatter of hoofbeats riding away, she saw a folded paper on the flagged stone. Unfolding the note, she recognized her husband's hand.

Realizing he may have dropped a letter significant to his business, she ran to the courtyard, then to the rooftop, desperately signaling the minute horse and rider.

Giving up at last, Viola went and sat in the library, gazing into the bright red flames as they coiled and twisted in the grate. For a long while, she forgot the paper in her hand until it crackled, and the stiff, sharp edges bit into her hand. Unfolding it, she began to read, not thinking to snoop, simply curious as to her husband's matters of business. She had a clear, logical head on her shoulders, in all things save loving her husband, at least, and politics was a favourite topic of hers. The letter was unsealed, and simply writ, a draft of a letter he must have sent on ahead. Viola breathed a sigh of relief, thinking, then, that another copy must have reached its proper recipient.

Viola's breath stopped in her chest as the first line addressed the missive to none other than Olivia! It read as follows:

"Dear Olivia,

We must needs be careful to hide out business. I begin to suspect that my lady Viola is starting to wonder at my frequent journeys, and she has of late been pensive and silent, out of spirits, deep in thought. This leads me to believe that she suspects at least something of our actions. I shall speak of this to you upon our meeting this Tuesday week. Only keep in mind that this must be hidden from Viola at all costs.

Your humble servant so long as his virtues recommend him—

—Orsino "

Viola felt an aching cold, then a searing heat, a slow burning at the core of her being that consumed her heart and soul yet did not destroy her. If only she could die, then and there. To have the release of death would be preferable to this tormented agony of spirit.

With a small cry, she flung the letter down, then snatched it up again, fleeing to her room. No one should know her shame but herself, of that she was certain. Too well did she know that the gossiping tongues of the servants held enough force to make all secrets public. Viola sat as if turned to stone, clutching the ill-fated letter in both hands, too distraught to utter a sound, too broken to shed a tear, too shattered to feel or move, and too crushed to think a coherent thought.

After a time, she began to recover her powers of thought, and wished that she could scream her denial of what she now knew to be true. Her husband, even now, was hastening to meet Olivia, his mistress.

_God forbid,_ thought Viola, _her brother's wife!_ What, should Sebastien know of his wife's cuckolding him? No…even now her brother was far away, conducting business in Italy as Illyria's ambassador, a position assigned to him by Orsino himself! Oh Heaven, did her husband give his brother-in-law such an employment even to be rid of him so that Orsino could woo his wife? Tears of rage, denial, and helplessness now pricked Viola's eyelids. What she had thought to be her husband's goal of pleasing her by giving her dearest brother such a place in Illyrian society was nothing more than a ruse to get Sebastien out of the way so that Orsino could conduct his adulterous affairs as he so chose.

Now anger rose within Viola as a defense against despair.

_By God_, she vowed. _I'll see him pay_.


	3. Escape

**Disclaimer: I don't own Shakespeare. Whoever does is rich. I am not rich.**

**A/N: 11pm, I'm exhausted, but after much procrastination and headaches and coughing and sneezing and "But I wanna go to beeed!"'s, this chapter is finally finished. I'm glad because I feel a lot better about this one that I do about the first two and now I can kinda commence upon the main action of the story in the next few chapters. My back really hurts 'cause I have crap computer posture, my eyes ache fro staring at the screen for so long, my throat hurts from coughing and I'm going to bed.

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"You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love: is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?" –Viola. Act I, Scene IV

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Viola locked the door to her room for the rest of the day, alternately weeping in desperation or silently raging in anger. She dared not scream as she wished she could, lest the slanderous servants spread rumours of their lady having an apoplectic fit. She paced like an animal caged, pausing only to press the flat of her palms against the cool leaded glass of her window. The gesture in itself was gentle and simple, but the fury and hurt simmered and writhed beneath her skin. She felt she could break the window with the slightest tilt of her finger, and clutched at the glass, her sweaty fingers slipping from the misty glass, fogged with the breath that rushed to and from her in hot, gasping bursts. She pressed her forehead to the glass, then turned swiftly, upsetting a small side table, and a crystal vase fell to the floor, shattering, the delicate flowers scattering across the floor as the thick rug began to soak up the water.

Viola rang for a servant, and one quickly entered, the maid giving a small curtsey before she glanced out of the corner of her eye at the mess of vase and flowers.

"Shall I…?"

"Leave it be," Viola said, lowly, bluntly. "Take heed, now. I shall take my meals for the day in my room. Nothing elaborate; bread, meat, fruit, water, whatever you will. Draw water, have a bath brought up for me tonight, after supper. Aside from this, I'm not to be disturbed, and my orders shall be followed with the fewest possible attending me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your ladyship," said the wide-eyed maid.

"Then go, and obey me at once." Viola spoke more forcefully than she ever had before to the servants, and the girl looked shocked, but not insulted. In truth, many of the servants considered the Lady Viola an easy mistress to serve.

Viola continued to pace, wearing a dim path in the rug as her nervous steps crossed the room, again and again. A tray of food was brought up at midday, and Viola picked nervously at the crust of the bread, and rolled some grapes between her fingers, but found it impossible to eat. She took a single grape in her mouth, but as she bit down on it, she spat it into her napkin, furiously wiping her mouth, feeling as though she would vomit. Pressing the napkin to her lips, she closed her eyes and sat on the chest at the foot of her bed and swallowed several times before she was able to return to pacing. Her dinner was brought, but she ignored it. Viola took the bottle of wine that had been brought with the meal and poured a glass instead.

Going out to the stone balcony that jutted out from the wide French doors of her room, she held the half-filled glass loosely between her fingertips. She swirled the wine in the glass, looking at it for a moment before she downed its contents, wincing at the slow-burning fire that shivered through her body. She leaned over the railing, looking at the gardens below, lest she feel the need to retch again. Luckily, she was able to keep down the liquid, and she returned to her room, leaving the doors open, the unusually warm breeze blowing through the gauzy curtains that hung at the doors. Viola poured another glass then set the light goblet on a table while she crossed to her wardrobe.

Unassisted, Viola removed her heavy day dress and undergarments, replacing them with a simple muslin shift. She pulled a thin wrap around her shoulders, and shivered; though the air was warm. Taking the wine glass, she padded barefoot out to the balcony once more, and she stood there for sometime as the twilight encroached upon the gardens below, darkness gathering in the shadows of the trees and still pools, the fountains turned off for the night. The waxing full moon sailed overhead in the clear sky, and the stars were beginning to surface from the hazy blue-black depths of the cosmos. Viola closed her eyes and listened, and the few birds that still sang signified the approach of summer, of long days and the crickets' chants. Viola heard the servants behind her clanking about, trying to quietly fill her bath. She didn't turn or acknowledge their presence, and she only moved from her spot when they were gone, and their footsteps retreated down the hall and into the distant reaches of the great villa. Sipping from her wineglass, she crossed to the bath and looked at it for a moment. Considering that the water was probably close to boiling and still too hot to step into at that moment, she first dragged a small table to the side of the tub and set her glass and the opened bottle of wine upon it, along with the now oft-folded letter. She locked her bedroom door and shed her clothing, stepping into the tub, gasping a little at the heat.

Viola eased into the water, then reclined slightly, reaching for the wineglass. She poured herself her third glass from the bottle and drank it quickly, then another, sipping it more slowly than the others, already feeling the effects of the wine upon her empty stomach. Putting down the glass, she sank under the surface of the water, allowing it to close over her head. She pressed her hands over her face, the heels of her hands massaging her closed eyes. Viola pushed her hair back from her face and broke the surface, sucking in a breath of air. Blinking the water drops from her eyes, she reached for the soap and washcloth left beside the tub, and began to scrub her body, as though she could rid her skin of every time Orsino's hands had been upon her, as though she could erase every time he'd kissed her. She ducked under the water again, letting the water fill her ears in place of every time she'd heard Orsino utter the words' I love you.' She soaped and rinsed her long, waving wheaten tresses, releasing them from the feeling of his fingers woven throughout them as he'd held her close and loved her, endlessly, he'd said.

Viola sat silent and motionless in her bath as the darkness grew outside. She'd not order a light to be lit in her room, and so everything was bathed in the cool blue glow of moonlight. Her head fell back and she rested it against the edge of the large metal tub. Her eyes wandered over the room, coldly inspecting the opulent furnishings and beautiful artwork of the carpentry, the masonry, the tapestries, mosaics, frescos; all these beautiful things that Orsino had placed in her room to give her pleasure. Now they all seemed transparent and dull; a mask of wealth and privilege to hide the true nature of the man she'd bound herself to for life. The fact was, he didn't love her, and never truly had. Perhaps he'd convinced himself of it for a while. It was she who had not been strong enough to keep their union from breaking. Viola had thought she'd had enough love to sustain the both of them. She might have been able to bear it, had he been lukewarm, or even indifferent towards her. But to love another, completely and utterly…was too much for Viola to take. She had thought she could warm him from liking to loving if need be, or even fire indifference into mild affection. But even she knew that love was unchangeable and steadfast; and if Orsino loved Olivia, then there was no hope for her to gain his devotion.

Viola's gaze fell to rest on the tray that contained her dinner, long gone colder than her bath water. Aside the plate lay a knife for carving her meat, long, slightly curved, and wicked-looking. Briefly Viola considered it as a means to an end. Her end. How easy would it be to draw the edge of the knife across her arm, see the blood welling and splashing onto the carpet below her feet? Viola wasn't sure how long it would take, but death, when it came, would be a merciful end to her torment. Orsino would be free of this ill-starred marriage and so would she. Viola had stepped from the tub and crossed the room, and before she knew what she was doing, she had taken the knife and pressed it to her skin. She closed her eyes and drew a breath, praying for forgiveness for her soul and courage to face her death. Her hand trembled, then stilled, and the knife dropped from her hand with a clatter upon the floor, and Viola reeled backwards, shivering and wet, unable to face what she'd been about to do. Kneeling upon the floor, she wrapped her arms about herself and wept silently, her light hair falling around her naked body, a curtain of glistening golden-brown, like wracks of seaweed, tangled and thick. Her hands covered her face, and she looked down, unable to face herself or her God in her shame at what she had done, at what she had been unable to do.

Gradually, her sobs quieted, and she stood, mechanically. She dried her sopping wet hair, wringing out the tangled mass, then smoothed it with a carved comb, another gift from Orsino. She dried herself, her now-tearless eyes staring dully into the distance of nothing. Reaching into a drawer by her bedside, she drew out a pair of silver shears, the blades shining in the pale starlight. She stood before her full-length mirror, and gathered her hair over her shoulder, twisting it into one section. She stared at it for a long moment before she clamped the scissors around it and began to work through the thick rope of strands. The soft _sssnick_ sound of the scissors was the only sound, loud in the silence of the room as Viola's motion began to get more frantic as she hacked at her hair, the long pieces falling around her feet. Her gaze remained fastened on her pale face in the mirror as she clipped the hair shorter and shorter, until it surrounded her face and head in a fairly even crop. Viola placed the scissors on the bedside table and stared at herself, the reality of what she'd done bringing feeling back into her numb limbs with a tingling rush. She couldn't hide this. As she stood dumbly in front of the mirror, she heard another sound in the quiet still of the late hour. The unmistakable tread of Orsino's riding boots approached slowly down the hallway. Viola closed her eyes and prayed wordlessly.

_I swear,_ she thought fervently. _If he takes one step into this room, I swear I will tell him all I know and try to put this all behind us. I swear I will speak to him and make sense of this madness. I swear. If he comes to me, I shall confess all to him. Right here, right now._ Viola pressed her trembling hands to her fast-beating heart, her jaw set, her teeth clenched as she saw the light that Orsino carried under the crack at the bottom of her door between the floor and the heavy wooden door. It shone, warm and golden, and stopped outside her door. Viola waited breathlessly, unable to tear her eyes from the door and the man she knew stood behind it. The butchered ends of her hair tickled her bare feet, and she subconsciously ran a hand through her short, damp hair.

The light paused, then moved on. Viola was hardly aware that it was gone until she heard the dull shutting of the door to Orsino's bedchamber, then all faded into the black silence of the night once more.

"So be it," she said, barely noting the fresh tears that had begin to stream down her face.

Viola went to her bureau and opened the bottom drawer, reaching far to the back, withdrawing several articles of folded, clean clothing. She set these on the foot of her bed, and returned to the drawer, She shut it and dumped another armload of clothing onto her bed. She donned a short camisole and then took a long bolt of plain cloth from the pile of clothing. Wincing, she began to wrap it tightly around her torso, flattening her breasts and making her gasp for air, worse than any corset. That done, she donned a pair of tight-fitting men's breeches, along with a billowing shirt. She pulled on stockings and shoes, and finished it all with a tailored jacket. Her spare change of clothing she rolled and bundled into a haversack. She took a small stash of money she kept in her bedside table and added that as well.

Viola crept out into the hallway, and silently made her way to the courtyard. She looked up at the walls and darkened windows of the place she'd come to call her home, and turning her back on her married life, she turned and set off along the road that wound along the sea coast of Illyria.

As she made her way along the road, she saw a small figure sauntering along ahead of her. As she drew neared, (for she was moving faster,) she recognized the fool known as Feste. Calling out to him, she raised an arm, hailing his attention.

"Good day to you, friend," he said simply. Whether his smile was a polite gesture or he knew her to be Viola, he made no distinction. "What has you out on the road at so early an hour as this? The sun shall not see the edge of the earth for a few hours hence."

"An early start for one who has far to travel," said Viola, with only a vague idea of what she was to do.

"And where are you headed?"

If only she knew.

"Italy," she said suddenly, recalling her brother. "I hope to find safe passage upon the morning tide."

"Passage you shall find, but whether it be safe or not all depends on the destination. If one is on a ship from Greece bound for Troy, what good is a 'safe' passage when one must face danger in the landing? A man's target can often make a target of the man."

"What you say is true, as it often is," said Viola, smiling for the first time in what seemed like forever.

"Ah, so you know me and yet I do not seem to know you. I once knew a man like you." A smile crossed the clown's face. "A very good sort of man. But he has since turned soft and woman-like, and I have not seen _him_ for the better part of a year. Pray, do you know the man I mean?"

"Aye," said Viola, enjoying the man's evident wit. "I knew the man; and I am just such a man, and yet I hope to make amends for my womanish interval by now embracing the life of the stronger sex. Pray tell me if I do not mend?"

"I should say you do, or you will, at any event. Tell me your name, youth."

"My name is Cesario, friend, and I should gladly bear your company for the journey to the sea port from whence I shall set sail."

"Cesario," said Feste with a glint of humour in his eyes that was lost in the early morning dimness. "I shall go with you and see you off with all good wishes, for methinks you will find much in Italy to teach you to have a man's strength again; and if that be your goal, then surely you shall find achievement. 'Twill take strength beyond what you know to get there, but strength you shall have enough."


	4. Sunrise

**A/N: So it's been a while, I know. Writer's block, plus school, plus other crap, plus I lost 3 pages of notes pertaining to a heated conversation between Orsino and Feste. So this is a filler chapter to start Viola off on her way while I scour my room for loose bits of paper. Hopefully I'll be updating all my stuff in the near future, but it's been a rough few weeks, and May/June is gunna be crazy with school and work. Thanks for sticking with me here. If you ever want to know why I'm not updating quickly or at all, chec out my profile, which I often change in case something happens to me or whatever. I usually give my reasons there.

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"…mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope," –Viola, Act 1, Scene 2.

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The salt tang of the ocean laced the air moments before the mournful cries of the seabirds reached Viola's ears. As she wended her way along the path that lead to the seaport village, the pulsing throb of the rhythmic waves began to hiss and gurgle in the distance. Feste had fallen silent for the latter part of their journey, and Viola was too deeply wrapped in her own anxiety to notice his sly glances at her profile, with a small, sad smirk, as if he knew what was going on inside everyone's minds at that moment. As they entered the town, beginning to pick their way down to the docks through the upended dories and grounded fishing boats, masses of tangled netting and wire, with hooks and flies and glass floats dangling like large soap bubbles. Normally, this clutter of curios would have fascinated Viola; but her own dazedness at her audacity had left her feeling blasé.

Viola finally came to herself as Feste spoke up—not to her, but to a surly-looking sailor standing at the foot of the dock, before the gangplank leading up to a mid-sized ship.

"Good morning to you friend!"

"Morning, is it?" mumbled the sailor, spitting a stream of tobacco-juice onto the dock and rubbing it into the planks with his filthy boot. "The sun ain't made his appearance yet, and you're talking as if it were nigh upon noon!"

"Look how the sky in the east is becoming lighter as we speak. Surely the sun cannot rise at night?"

"I seen stranger things in my travels…" said the old man cryptically, with a distant look in his gaze that was a little uncanny.

"Sure you have!" said Feste jovially. "Who hasn't seen strange things in even the shortest of lifetimes? A babe at the breast must see everything in the world as being terribly strange; so to say you have seen strange things is not strange in itself."

The man blinked confusedly at Feste for a moment, and then he nodded.

"Aye, that is very true." His mood seemed to have lightened somewhat, and he nodded at them, jerking his chin upwards to acknowledge them both. "What can I do for you?"

"Where is this ship bound?"

"Italy. Ancona, the eastern coast."

"This young man would like to purchase passage to Italy on your ship, if there is room enough."

"We have room," stated the sailor noncommittally.

"How much?" asked Viola, having recovered her powers of speech.

"Twenty gold pieces." Viola's brow furrowed.

"Even I know that's too much. Far too much. I'll give you five."

"I'd be a fool if I took you for less than fifteen, even though I think you're a good man."

Viola smirked and raised a brow at this. "I'd be a fool if I paid you whatever you asked."

"I'd be a fool if I did not back up my claim that by profession I am the only fool present," said Feste, enjoying the banter. Viola shot him a saucy look.

"Five is my offer or you shall have to do without my patronage aboard your ship," she said firmly, swinging her leather purse a little nonchalantly, as if she would turn and walk away the next instant. "That man there," she said, nodding to another similar ship and sailor. "He looks as if he'd take me for five."

"Paolo?" The sailor spat again. "He and his leaky tub are not worth one, my boy. You'll sink halfway through the voyage and then what good will all your gold be to either of us? Live, that we may both enjoy it." He grinned, displaying a mouthful of blackened and gold teeth. "Ten."

"Seven or I take my chances with Paolo and you shall not see a single piece of my gold. I had rather it lie on the ocean floor in my cold, drowned hands than live warmly in the hands of a greedy man like you." She spoke with a smile, and the adventure of her predicament began to dawn upon her. Her heartache was packed away in a corner of her heart, an insistent pain, but on that she could save to pity another, more convenient time.

"Seven then," the sailor grinned. Viola counted out the pieces and handed them to him.

"Buy something nice for your wife," she said jovially. The man barked out a laugh.

"As if there'd be any woman patient enough to marry a roving sea dog? Particularly one who looks like I do? I may have had a good hour or two in my youth, but my chances have since flown." He jingled the gold in his palm. "No matter. A piece of gold ought to buy me a wife for at least an evening!" He cackled again and leered at a passing prostitute. Viola and Feste smiled good-naturedly, but Viola's inner sensibilities recoiled slightly. She had forgotten how blatantly vulgar men could be in their own company.

"When do we set sail?"

"The morning tide. About half an hour hence."

"I'll go see what I may buy for provisions," said Viola to Feste, mostly to cement her course of action in her own mind. "I'm not sure where I may go once I land in Italy. My brother, he is in the north, but he plans to travel south later in the month. Mayhap I shall try to meet him there. In the meantime I'll see what work I may get."

Feste nodded.

"Well, then, God speed, Cesario." Feste shook her hand and gave her a quick smile before he turned and melted into the early morning crowds. The night fishermen had come in with their nets full, and the smell of fish and the freshening sea surrounded Viola. She stood still a moment by herself, truly alone for the first time since her departure. She then turned and trudged up the street to find a shop where she could buy some food for her journey.

Half an hour later, she boarded the ship, the graying old captain—named Gitano—already barking orders at his crew. Viola placed her rucksack on the foredeck while she waited. Gitano showed her the small bunk that was to be hers, and told her that the journey would take two or three days, weather depending. Viola dropped her things on the bunk and sat there for a moment, surveying her purchases. A loaf of good bread, salted dried fish, and some fruit, along with a rough sailor's cap of dark red wool and long, warm coat, in case it got cooler or stormed during the voyage. Already there was a keen wind blowing off the water as the ship slowly moved out of the harbour and onto the open sea. The rocking motion had made Viola feel a little ill, but she knew that would pass soon. Travel by sea had never been much of a problem for her. She tugged on the coat and jammed the cap down over her shorn hair, returning to the upper decks, not daring to leave her rucksack below decks. She stood in the prow of the boat as it finally began to sail swiftly over the morning tide. Waves hissed under the keel and foam frothed as they cut through the surf. Viola licked her lips and tasted the sea, and the wheeling gulls cried again, but this time the sound was exciting to Viola's ears. Adventure was hers, and at last she felt a vague sort of release, freedom from the sick dread that had plagued her on land. It was over and she was beginning anew.

As the sun rose, Viola turned to look back at the fast receding hills of her homeland, the golden rays of the dawn shadowing the valleys and the coves and brightening the mountains and plateaus. She breathed a sigh of relief as the rosy light reached them at last, then she faced the open sea, the sun sparkling on the blue expanse as it stretched before her, teeming with possibility and redemption.


End file.
